


Hell is Empty

by attimesiwrite, Chub n Tux (attimesiwrite)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Betrayal, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Idiots in Love, Like i combined a couple of the endings because why not., Mutual Pining, Neurological Disorders, Nomad life, Reunions, Romance, Terminal Illnesses, V finds a cure!, aldecaldos, slight au?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attimesiwrite/pseuds/attimesiwrite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/attimesiwrite/pseuds/Chub%20n%20Tux
Summary: “I’m goin' back to Earth.” V's voice waivers, her false conviction about to fold like a damn card table. "Gonna go with the Aldecaldos."His eyes do not leave the floor. V feels a tremor start in her hands – she shoves them into her pockets, sniffling as she stands.Crybaby she might be, she’s never been one to give up.“You could come with me.” She whispers, frightened that Saburo himself would hear her.“I cannot.” His answer is just as soft, and no less broken.V lets the tears fall as she smiles – realizing that after all they’ve been through, this is the end. “Goodbye Goro. It’s been an honor.”-----An alteration to the Devil ending. V returns to Earth to spend the rest of her days with the Aldecaldos and face her inevitable death. Takemura returns to Tokyo to resume his duty to Saburo Arasaka, only to be faced with accusations of sedition. Fate brings them together once more.
Relationships: Goro Takemura & Female V, Goro Takemura/Female V
Comments: 23
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What's poppin.  
> I can't stop playing this game.  
> Someone send help.
> 
> \---
> 
> There's a lot of exposition in this first chapter. I'm thinking I may go back and flesh all of that out.

V tries not to think about him.

She's become adept at taking on avoidance like a second skin. She is quite the master of avoidance. Losing her job at Arasaka, losing Jackie, losing Johnny, losing _him_. She ducks and dodges the thoughts and memories that whip at her like well-thrown knives. Occasionally, one hits. Memories sink into her like a poorly-sharpened blade and eat at her.

For awhile there it wasn’t so hard to avoid the pain. Memories and dark thoughts slipped from her easily. **Too** easily.

Her condition was terminal, they’d told her with no amount of uncertainty. The damage the chip had done was devastating and irreversible.

With Johnny gone, it’d become clear that something was terribly wrong. She was forgetful and irritable. She’d wax and wane between paralyzing fear and mild confusion within seconds. Words became harder to find and even harder to string together. Thoughts became frustratingly disjointed – like jamming two puzzle pieces together that didn’t quite fit but looked like they should.

Physically, her body began to fail her. Her legs would just give out and objects would fall from her tremoring hands. Migraines and seizures became a weekly nightmare. Night and day melded together into a mess of colors and sounds rather than distinct times. Exhaustion, hunger, and thirst were sensations that faded into the wind like dust.

Her thought sometimes wandered to _him_. Their last, sad interaction. How angry she’d been when she realized he had crawled back to Saburo… Kowtowed and crawled so readily back to a man who might as well be his captor.

V sided with Arasaka to prevent more bloodshed. A decision that firmly placed her at the top of Johnny’s shit list and one that she wasn’t proud of. She’d bargained – desperate to not alienate the last piece of herself that felt intact. Bitterly, Johnny was released beyond the Blackwall, leaving her with a dying brain and a lie to sell to Arasaka.

Arasaka bought it and destroyed what they believed to be Johnny. Always determined to never learn from their lesson, Saburo Arasaka was placed into the body of Yorinobu – and was so _gracious_ to offer her help.

Some help it was.

_“V, if you do not do this, you will die.”_

_“I know.”_

_His composure crumbles at her lackluster reply. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting around the room that only a few hours prior had been nearly destroyed due to one of her outbursts._

_There’s a silence that falls between them. Ever persistent, he tries again. “Your personal opinions must be set aside, V. Arasaka-sama will honor his word. On my word, I swear that you will get your new body as soon as possible and -”_

_“No.” V shakes her ever-aching head._

_He continues, “and I will see to it that you are well take care of. I will be the first to see you when you return. I will bring you to Japan with me. I will make you real food. You will **never** have to return to Night City again.”_

_His words are so impassioned – the offer is so tempting. Tears threaten so spill as her last denial leaves her lips as barely a whisper._

_His eyes fall to the floor, his hands clasp together and V recognizes his expression as one of grief. It’s an expression she’s grown used to seeing since they met. It’s painfully raw and painfully real._

_“I’m goin' back to Earth.” V's voice waivers, her false conviction about to fold like a damn card table. "Gonna go with the Aldecaldos."_

_His eyes do not leave the floor. V feels a tremor start in her hands – she shoves them into her pockets, sniffling as she stands._

_Crybaby she might be, she’s never been one to give up._

_“You could come with me.” She whispers, frightened that Saburo himself would hear her._

_“I cannot.” His answer is just as soft, and no less broken._

_V lets the tears fall as she smiles – realizing that after all they’ve been through, this is the end. “Goodbye Goro. It’s been an honor.”_

* * *

The confusion and pain made her angrier and angrier until moments of lucidity were far with few in between.

V doesn’t remember the months of this stage. With the recollection of others around her – this stage was far easier for V to handle. Gone was the sharp, intelligent ex-Corpo who’d taken the ride of a lifetime that left her scarred and angry. She was different. Placid. Quiet. Just… gone. Words escaped her most of the time. There were flashes of sounds and faces and smells that would stir emotion in her – but nothing more. She wandered when her legs would hold her up. Sometimes dredging out into the desert aimlessly only for Panam to find her and carry her back with a fit of tears and curses.

Even in moments like that – where she didn’t even know who she was anymore, she remembered _him_.

_The smell, sweet and savory, conjures up images of a face that makes her chest constrict in the most wonderful way. Sweet smiles and pain. Pain._

_“V?!” The reverie is broken by a shrill cry._

_V turns around and stumbles backwards – the figure moves toward her too fast. Fear._

_V registers the ground underneath her back as she tries to crawl away._

_“Hey – hey – hey. It’s okay, c’mere V. Let’s go back to camp.”_

_A sweet smile in a crowd of anger and hate. Yakitori._

_Tears begin to fall as V takes in her surroundings. Japantown._

_“Goro?” The two syllables fight their way out of her mouth. She doesn’t even know what it means – if it means anything at all._

_“Huh?” the figure hoists her up and V floats across the desert, eyes drawn to colorful cactus flowers as the word leaves her lips once more._

_“Goro.”_

* * *

She wonders now if that stage of degeneration was the closest to death she’d ever been… The life-threatening injuries and tense moments she’d experienced before her return to Earth seemed so unlike this brush with death. That realization hits her right in the center of her chest. It shakes her world, really.

Maybe death wasn’t necessarily a violent and loud experience preceded by a sick rush of adrenaline. Maybe death was a gentle and quiet escape out into the desert; unfeeling and unafraid. It made things a little easier to swallow in hindsight.

Death never came, though. V thought that it did. V was sure that it did. After all, she’d been a dead woman walking for nearly a year prior. At this point when she thinks back on this journey, she realizes that there was no defining moment when she realized she was fixed.

Panam had struck gold with the help of Anders Hellman. In the Mojave lie an underground bunker owned by Biotechnica, residing inside that bunker were a whole host of doctors, including one Dr. Lily Deniz – world renowned neurologist.

According to Panam, they’d struck a deal with the doctors within the bunker to protect the bunker so long as V was treated. According to Anders, Panam had strong-armed the doctors into helping by threatening to fuck with the delicate pressure system that sustained life within the bunker.

Regardless of the means in which they’d used to get there – V emerged from the phantom state of brain death and found herself once again confused and frustrated in a Corpo bunker-lab surrounded by strangers. V was poked, prodded, tested, and treated with experimental neurogenesis therapy, brain-tissue regeneration, and other things she’d long since written off as too much for her little damaged walnut brain to remember.

The few months felt like **years** of isolation and torture. They’d let her establish a link with Panam once she had finished her final round of speech therapy.

_“Where are you all?” V had asked brusquely, an all-too familiar ache settling in between her eyes as she tried to stare at the screen in front of her._

_“Holy shit.” Panam breathed out, hand coming up to cover her mouth._

_V frowned, the ache drawing her brows together tight. “What’s got you all up in a tizzy?”_

_“Holy shit!” Panam repeated with a wet laugh – tears threatening to spill over. “It’s you.”_

_V scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no shit it’s me, now where **are** you guys?”_

* * *

There weren't many calls after that. Turns out brain regeneration can be just as physically and mentally straining as brain degeneration. Isolation didn’t help. However, as the months drew on, V’s condition improved dramatically. So dramatically that one day Dr. Deniz dropped her façade of begrudging compliance, smiled and uttered the words: “You are about ninety percent recovered.”

Ninety percent.

Ninety percent.

Ninety fuckin’ percent.

Naturally, ninety percent was conditional. The wide range of experimental treatment was… well… experimental. They would need to stand the test of time and her lifestyle. All in all, the doctors estimated that the artificial structures in her brain could withstand another forty years or so before they would start to break down once more. Neural cyberware was going to be a dangerous game for her to play. She would be more susceptible to synapse burnout. Her neural plasticity had lessened once the process of regeneration was completed. She would still possibly experience seizures and migraines. Alcohol and drugs would need to be used sparingly for a long time, lest she alter the already fragile state of her brain.

These conditions were read off to V many times before her official discharge and once to Panam at the discharge. As if a perfect representation of her state – V found herself forgetting the conditions for the first few weeks of life back on the road while Panam sought to make sure she never ever forgot them.

Even after her ordeal, V took to living on the road like a champ – at least she thinks whshe does. She helps where she can and carves out a niche for herself among the clan post-brainrot. She becomes Panam’s shadow in a way. The woman is insistent that V stay with her at nearly every waking hour lest V drop dead at any given moment.

V finds it funny at first but it all becomes mildly irritating: The mothering, the worrying, the reminding. V is grateful for and loves her friend more than she every thought she would, but a vein of tension runs through their relationship. It’s tender and shockingly difficult to navigate for a few weeks, but it works itself out.

_“I can’t lose you, too.”_

That’s what Panam had said to her many times over this battle. The words worked their way under V’s skin, nestled and roosted deep in her to irritated her.

In the process of working through her issues with Panam, V realizes something that she overlooked in her short-sighted recovery: As difficult as the process of her condition was on her, she’d yet to understand how difficult was on Panam. On Mitch. On the others who she’d grown to know within the Aldecaldos.

She can’t help but feel like the celebration of her defeating the Relic was selfish in a way. The whole thing feels selfish. The Aldecaldos traveled miles upon miles, worked hand in hand with a fuckin’ corp, watched after her like she was a senile grandma with dementia… all for her wellbeing. Maybe in part for Panam, but the love of the community simultaneously comforts and distresses her. What can she do for them to make it up to them? She draws a blank.

That’s one of the many things that keeps her up at night. When everyone else sleeps she tosses and turns. Flashes of guilt and a life left behind. She tries, tries, tries to find her second skin – her avoidance. She can’t find it anymore.

Maybe that’s why, even after regaining her soul, V still avoids thinking about him at all cost.

Because not even going through the motions of degenerative brain disease stirs as much emotion as the miniscule text she receives one cool June night in camp.

**[Unknown Sender]**

V, I need you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His stomach always sinks at this point – at this acknowledgment of her mortality. The doctors gave her three months when she left the facility. It is a year to the day. He knows. He has counted every single day since she left his life.
> 
> He’s always been a bit of a masochist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! <3
> 
> Ngl, I didn't really proof read this one. I'll go through and edit it soon!

Tokyo, Japan

March 2078

  
A gentle breeze picks up exponentially, flinging newly-sprouted leaflings into the air. A typhoon approaches from the south. It’s a small one, but a typhoon is still a typhoon. Storm clouds look different near large cities. The smog-covered cityscape of Tokyo cast a strong blue light into the encroaching storm clouds, creating an eerily teal cast inside of the morphing clouds. Lighting stretches across the upper shelf of the storm, still too far away to be heard but very much visible from the acropolis-like Arasaka family compound.

Chimes clang noisily together somewhere outside and even the heavy metal shutters that have been lowered over most of the windows rattle in the wind. A cacophony forms outside and seeps into the high ceilings of Saburo Arasaka’s personal quarters, yet a calm silence perseveres between the two men inside.

Saburo Arasaka, inhabiting the body of his late son, kneels over the low table found in the center of the room – eyes roving over a data pad. Goro Takemura stands not two steps away, hands clasped in front as his eyes travel up the walls to the high ceilings. His stoic, rigid presence hides the growing tension he feels in his gut.

The silence is broken mere moments later.

“That will be all, Takemura-kun. You are being released for the night.” Saburo sighs as he pushes the data pad forward on the table, rising from his place on the floor far quicker than he could a year prior.

Goro bows deeply at his master’s parting words. “Thank you, Arasaka-sama. I wish you a peaceful evening.”

“You as well.”

This exchange is a part of a routine older than most of the young guards standing post outside of Saburo Arasaka’s quarters. The words had been exchanged so often that it became second nature to Goro. A fitting way to end his shift at Saburo’s side.

That’s not to say that his job is ever over.

He’s had to make the occasional unexpected after-hours trek to Saburo’s quarters a number of times over the years for emergencies. Goro’s own apartment is only a handful of minutes away – attached to Saburo’s own quarters by two hallways, so it doesn’t make much of a difference to him. A shift never _really_ ends.

Goro exits Saburo’s main chamber and descends the steps to the atrium. Tucked away near the sliding doors, he grabs his coat from an otherwise empty rack and slips it on. Thunder rolls in the distance as rain begins to tap against the pitched roof of the palace. With a deep sigh, he slides out of the door and through the three security checkpoints. The standing guards bow as he passes, and he has just the mind to bend his neck to acknowledge them.

Through the final door that connects Saburo’s quarters to the rest of the compound, he comes to an intersecting hallway. The left wing, heading north, will eventually take him on an internal route to the ground floor of the complex where he lives. The right wing, heading south, will eventually take him to a door that leads to the beautifully manicured gardens of the compound. Despite the rapidly and gentle reminder of the oncoming typhoon emanating from the intercom system, he takes a right this evening.

The gardens are envied internationally. A labor of love from Hanako during a brief foray into botany and horticulture when she was younger. Unable to deny his daughter, Saburo saw that funds and space be freed for the project. Regardless of her passing fancy, Hanako’s father insists that the gardens be maintained. Spanning across the entire southern breadth of the compound, the twisting cobble pathways intersect, and wind around specially chosen and carefully curated flora with the occasional hokora breaking the maze of color.

Aside from the hokora, there is only one other structure found within the gardens – an Inari shrine tucked away in the farthest corner – his destination. The shrine was old. Goro is unsure of how old the shrine really is, but he knows that the shrine was bought by Arasaka for a handsome sum and transported to the gardens. Now the once nationally adored shrine was private property of the Arasaka Corporation.

He reaches a busier portion of the compound, where the waitstaff and guards prepare to leave or stay in the compound living facilities. Voices hush and bodies bend in deep bows as he passes through. Goro summons just enough patience to acknowledge them.

At last, he reaches the double set of sliding doors leading to the outside. The final security checkpoint he needs to pass through happens to be manned by a former student of his.

“Good evening, Takemura-sensei.” The young man bows deeply, rigid posture admirable given how long he’s been working this shift.

“Good evening, Hamada-kun.” Goro bends his neck and waits for the young man to open the doors.

“Might you be visiting the shrine again?” Hamada makes polite conversation as he keys in the code needed to leave the building. The first door slides open and he moves to key in the code for the second door.

Takemura answers with a low, affirmative hum. The final door slides open, and the scent of petrichor all but hits Goro in the face.

Hamada steps aside but hesitates to motion for Goro to move. “Takemura-sensei… I do not think it’s a good idea to visit the shrine. The typhoon is set to make landfall within the hour.”

Goro’s first instinct is to laugh. Concern for his wellbeing was something he hadn’t experienced since… He quickly shakes the thought. Goro schools his expression and levels a firm but friendly gaze at the young man.

Hamada quickly realizes he perhaps overstepped a boundary and bows his head. “Pardon me, sensei. I did not mean any disrespect.”

“There is no disrespect taken.” Goro clarifies as he buttons up his heavy jacket and prepares to enter the now steady drizzle of rain. “I will not be long at the shrine tonight. I will come back through this door within the hour.”

“I see, of course.” If his reddened face is any indication, Hamada still hasn’t recovered from his perceived faux pas. He motions for Goro to exit the building, and the bodyguard does.

Goro makes haste once he is in the gardens, following a well-worn path that he’d learned like the back of his hand since he returned to Japan. Ume, sakura, and momo trees shiver and shed blossoms on either side of him as he descends the first row of stairs, their pleasant aroma not lost on him in the rain. Patches of multi-colored tulips and sakurasou sway to his right and left as he rounds corners. The final straight away offers him shelter from the ever-increasing downpour, large overgrown maples create a canopy that catches and diverts rain from the path – a blessed reprieve.

At last he reaches the stairs leading up to the shrine. Unmoving and masterfully carved foxes keep watch on either side of the bright red archways. Goro halts in their critical gaze, bowing once before he passes through. Thunder rumbles when he approaches the entryway, this one guarded by two alabaster foxes, vermillion circled eyes boring into him. He feels under certain scrutiny from these two. He bows deeply, his final superstition sated, and enters.

Finally free from the downpour, Goro wipes his face, eyes scanning the darkened walls. The lanterns shine with electric light, casting an orange tint over the meticulously kept altar.

Closing his eyes, Goro inhales and exhales twice; seeking peace now that he’s here. This process frustrated him the first few times he tried after he returned to Japan… After his life had been turned upside down and all but shattered.

He squares his stance and bends himself at the waist in a deep bow. He rises, waits a beat, and bows again. Upon rising he claps his hands together twice – the mix of metal and flesh clanging together. He sinks into his supplication - a wordless prayer he’s spoken hundreds of times that is lead by emotions he isn’t yet ready to face.

He prays for her health. He prays that she is free of pain and in abundance of peace. He prays that she isn’t alone. He prays that she is far away from Night City.

If her health has failed… then…

His stomach always sinks at this point – at this acknowledgment of her mortality. The doctors gave her three months when she left the facility. It is a year to the day. He knows. He has counted every single day since she life his life.

He’s always been a bit of a masochist.

Goro steels himself. If her health has failed, he prays that she finds the peace she sought in life. He prays she finds an actual paradise without conditions. He prays for the wellbeing of her soul.

He prays that his messages will be relayed to her in some way. That he treasured their time together more than anything. That she made his days brighter. That the depth of the feelings he held for her frightened him.

He prays for her forgiveness, most of all.

His prayers end with a clap of thunder so loud that he feels the wooden floor beneath him shake. He bows low once more and reaches in his pocket. He holds the trinket in his hand – an amulet made of a bullet suspended in a mess of wire. A homemade keepsake of her impending death.

_“Memento mori.” She grimaced as she gave it to him. “The last thing I need is another damn reminder.”_

He has considered leaving it as an offering, but always slips it back in his pocket before he leaves. He’s a sentimental fool. _Perhaps a coward too_ , he thinks bitterly, turning the trinket over in the palm of his hand.

“Takemura-san.”

The voice would have made him jump – should have made him jump – but it doesn’t.

“Oda.” Goro greets the man without turning to face him. His eyes are still drawn to the amulet. He rubs his fingers over the taut wire, regret dropping in his stomach like a lead weight.

_If I told her how I felt, maybe she would’ve listened._

“I have the shard.” Oda gets straight to business, rounding about the older man and gazing at the altar.

The mention of a shard catches Goro’s attention and he swiftly lifts his gaze. “I see.”

Oda retrieves the shard from his own pocket and extends it out to Goro. Goro stares at it for a long moment, his heart in his throat. Oda appears to be in no hurry. The shard hangs in the midst between them.

Goro slides the amulet back into his pocket and reaches to grab the shard. He slides it into his port – not yet ready to look at the contents but keen on keeping the integrity intact while he returns to his apartment for the night.

“Your hard work is appreciated.” Goro offers diplomatically.

Oda, ever stubborn, brushes off the thank you but bows his head. “I owed you.”

“That you did.” Goro replies evenly before spinning on his heel to leave. He is buzzing – positively eager to return to his apartment and look at the information. Torn between hopeful optimism and gut-wrenching pessimism, he hangs in the balance.

Thunder grows louder and more frequent, flashes of lightning so bright that they light up the inside of the shrine. Goro realizes he’s taken longer than expected and his thoughts drift to Hamada. Best he not linger and draw suspicion.

“Thank you, Oda. You have a pleasant night.”

Oda’s response is a quiet hum of his own.

Goro leaves the Shrine with one last deep bow, his heart lighter and mind racing. He’d asked Oda this one favor to repay the debt of having V spare him. As much as Oda frustrated him, he knew he could trust the younger man with this task.

Goro jogs back through the winding path of the garden, and before long he is greeted at the door of the facility by Hamada. Hamada smiles – a bright, genuine smile – as he opens the door.

Goro risks a small smile. “Told you I’d be back within the hour.”

“Just in time, Takemura-san! The arm is about to swing into us!” Hamada offers the older man a hand towel to dry himself with, but the bodyguard declines politely, wishing the young guard a nice evening and making his way to his apartment.

The halls are empty as the staff has either left for their post or gone to bed. Goro relishes in the echo of his footfalls and the noisy sheets of rain smacking against the metal shutters.

All in all, he makes short work of the walk back to his apartment. In fact, he moves so quickly that he has to force himself to slow down – mindful and wary of his own excitement. He scolds himself… _Chances are there will be nothing groundbreaking on this shard, so he best not expect it_. He takes off his shoes at the entryway, trading them for a pair of house shoes, and enters his apartment.

The door barely has time to hiss shut behind him when he slips the shard in. A mountain of information bombards him. Communication between former associates, fixers, and acquaintances. Ever-evolving information on the nomad group she’d grown fond of – the Aldecaldos. Known locations with dates and times. Suspected whereabouts in between those known moments.

There is one photo of her. Taken eight months ago. A highly compressed image taken by some fueling station’s security camera. The image is so grainy he cannot pinpoint any other distinguishing figure aside from her hair.

The picture sweeps the side and reveals another composite of information. The Aldecaldos had left California and headed East. During this journey, V was said to have been with them. The personnel keeping track of the nomad group lost track of them after they entered the Mojave Desert last summer.

He sits down at the bar in his kitchen. Eyes still scanning through the information. He pours over detail after detail from up to a year prior. Goro sighs, the weight in his gut sinking further with each passing moment. He knows better than to hope for anything, and he curses his own inability to let go.

He opens up file after file, scouring it only to be disappointed... Until the most recent file. A transcript of an audio transmission between an unidentified source in Nevada and an Arasaka-encrypted net ID grabbed the attention of Oda’s resource. The transcript is difficult to make heads or tails of. The audio quality must’ve been horrendous, and the translation to Japanese did it no favors.

Her name catches his attention first. Valerie. His heart feels like it will beat out of his chest. Inside of the mess of gibberish and missing characters he makes out words that reignite his hope.

_Patient responsive ------_

_Patient discharged from facility ----- prognosis good_

_\--- Contact for_ \------ _continued recovery_

Goro stops himself – closes his eyes, forces a shaky breath of air into his lungs and removes the shard. He sets it on the counter, watching his fingers tremble with the sheer weight of what he just learned.

A part of him doesn’t believe it. Doesn’t _want_ to believe it, as awful as it sounds. It would be easier if she had died under these circumstances. He would mourn her for the rest of his life, sure. Yet she lives, and he is struck with the realization that he would rather be by her side in the desert than sitting here in his apartment.

Goro snaps himself out of his spiraling thoughts and rises from his seat. He scrubs his face with his hands and leaves the kitchen; leaves the information behind literally and figuratively – lest he do something he regret.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V's head swims as she wades through a sea of frustration to find words that would've come to her so quick a year ago. “If something is wrong… If something has gone ass up for him and he feels the need to send me something like this, then he’s really fucked.”
> 
> “Exactly!” Panam slaps her knee for emphasis. “Shit’s contagious, V. He’s fucked. Calls you, you’re fucked. You even look my way, I’m fucked. All of a sudden, we’re all getting fucked because you just can't let shit go.”
> 
> “No one is getting fucked Panam!” V’s voice rises sharply, hands flying in the air as if it would help to prove her point.
> 
> “Damn straight no one is getting fucked.” Panam laughs, a rasp of disbelief catching on the last sound. “Cause you’re not gonna respond to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments! I will be responding to them later, but I had to get this out today :)

V mulls over her phone, reading the four-word text over and over until she questions if the words on the screen are even words at all.

Her first instinct is to call. She rolls out of her cot as soon as the words sink in, hands fumbling with the phone in the dark of her tent. Her thumb stays poised over the call button for minutes, but she hesitates to actually press it. She stands, throat tight and stomach churning as she’s suddenly taken by fear.

What if it isn’t him?

V paces, trying to control her breathing. She’s lightheaded at the thought of him coming back to her. It’s something she’d fantasized about late at night in her tent – a mess of black hair and kind eyes next to her on her cot...

V stops herself, shaking the wandering through from her head and frowns down at the phone.

Her thumb descends.

She calls.

**“Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please check with your provider to – ”**

“Shit. _Fuck_.” V hisses as she hands up. Text messages came through consistently, but usually with some delay in the Mojave. Calls were hit or miss.

She could text back… But what would she respond with?

V sits down on her cot, bare feet digging into soft tarp underneath them.

She tries – God, she tries.

~~Goro?~~

_Delete._

~~Who is this?~~

_Delete._

~~Hi.~~

_Delete._

~~_Where are you?_ ~~

_Delete._

~~I’m alive~~

_Delete._

V lets the phone drop to her cot and rubs her hands over her burning face.

She freezes in the middle of her tent.

Maybe she can, like, wait it out…? Lord knows he would spam her with text after text when she didn’t reply immediately before. If it really is him, he would do it again, yeah?

She waits all of seventeen minutes before she’s hauling ass across camp, blanket wrapped around her shoulders – phone in hand. V barely notices the cold as she avoids shards of glass scattered on the path. Maybe she should’ve put shoes on…

Eventually she makes it to Panam’s tent. Cold and riled up, she yanks open the entrance flap and ducks inside.

“Panam.” The woman’s name comes out as a harsh whisper in the dark of the tent.

There’s a bit of motion on the cot, but the other woman doesn’t stir. V rolls her eyes and reaches to the left of the space heater near the entrance, fumbling fingers flicking the switch of the dangling lights. The tent lights up immediately and Panam gasps as she returns to consciousness.

Panam sits up, bleary eyes squinting and blinking as she tries to take inventory of her surroundings. Her eyes land on V.

“V?”

“Yeah, hey – sorry.” V approaches the cot and sinks to her knees next to it, bringing her phone up to eye level. “So I got this text. You know the Arasaka guy I was kicking it with? Takemura? I think it’s from him, but I’m not sure.”

“V…” Panam starts, a frown forming on her face. “It’s like four in the morning.”

“I know but this is important.”

“Why?” The Nomad sits up and sighs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“I… uh – well… look I-” The reason why it’s so important to V is easy for her to feel. To express in words is a different story. V closes her eyes and huffs out a breath – forfeiting her search for the right words. She brings up her phone and all but shoves it in Panam’s face.

Panam scowls, shooting a pointed look at V before turning her gaze to the phone’s screen begrudgingly. V chews on her lower lip as she watches her friend read the text.

Panam’s expression softens and her lip curls a bit. “This reads more like a booty call than a text between former chooms.”

V frowns deeply, the notion itself offensive. “No – no! I – this is what he said to me… After Dex shot me, this man saved me. We met up at Tom’s Diner and this is what he said to me… He said ‘V, I need you’ and I’m sure this is him dropping a hint to me now.”

The story sends Panam’s brows shooting up. “After all that damage to your dome… It took you eight weeks to remember how to tie your shoes and yet you remember a conversation like that in detail?”

V’s ire rises considerably, and she stands, letting the blanket drop from her shoulders. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, yeah. M’sorry.” Panam closes her eyes and swings her legs over the edge of the cot, resting her elbows on her knees. She heaves a sigh. “Okay. If this Arasaka _choom_ of yours is so eager to reach out to you now, why the cloak and dagger? Why not just drop a friendly line like a normal person?”

V considers the question and chews on her lip again. She paces, toying with the edge of her phone case. “The guy – he’s uh – he’s pretty high up in Arasaka. They keep him on a short leash. I imagine every ounce of communication he has with anyone is heavily monitored.”

Panam raises a brow. “How high we talkin’?”

V hesitates for a moment.

“Like - Like Saburo Arasaka’s bodyguard kinda high.”

Panam’s eyes become saucers in what ias quite possibly record time. “No. No, no, no.”

“He’s a good man.” V begins defensively before she’s cut off.

“I don’t care if he’s a fuckin’ saint, answerin’ that text is a **_bad_** _idea_.”

V's head swims as she wades through a sea of frustration to find words that would've come to her so quick a year ago. “If something is wrong… If something has gone ass up for him and he feels the need to send me something like this, then he’s really fucked.”

“Exactly!” Panam slaps her knee for emphasis. “Shit’s contagious, V. He’s fucked. Calls you, you’re fucked. You even look my way, I’m fucked. All of a sudden, we’re all getting fucked because you just can't let shit go.”

“No one is getting fucked Panam!” V’s voice rises sharply, hands flying in the air as if it would help to prove her point.

“Damn straight no one is getting fucked.” Panam laughs, a rasp of disbelief catching on the last sound. “Cause you’re not gonna respond to him.”

The words send a shock of rage through V. It’s startling, how angry the thought of imposed control makes V. Her blood boils and she clenches her teeth. She has half a mind to take her bike and leave.

The former merc takes a deep breath to calm herself. She understands the source of Panam’s controlling demeanor. A Nomad isn’t a Nomad without their clan. If V finds herself wrapped up in Arasaka’s bullshit the Aldecaldos will suffer. What a great way to repay them for all they’ve done for her – bringing more corpo bullshit to roost.

V catches a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall and has to look away before she sinks into misery.

She scoffs a bit at her thought process – ** _leaving…_**

Where would she go?

What would she do?

Gone was the big, bad merc risen from the ashes of a burned corpo brat. Most of her implants are out of commission until her brain reaches full function again. The muscle mass she’d acquired over her years of training has shrunk. The hair near the incision sights on her scalp doesn’t look quite right yet. She doesn’t even recognize herself. She looks like a proper waif lingering in the tent so dejectedly in her Samurai shirt and shorts that were at least twice her size.

Just like that, V deflates.

Her feelings bubble up and the words finally find her.

“I care about him.”

“V, I’m sorry for bein’ a - ” Panam starts the same time V does but stops when she hears the words. Her expression softens even more at the admission.

“He means a lot to me.” V chews on the inside of her lip again after her admission. It feels stupid. Almost wrong to admit such a thing. “He’s a good man. The best… and… and I’m worried about him.”

A silence grows between them.

“I get it. I really do.” Panam starts, “but we can’t risk pissing off Arasaka.”

V turns her gaze back to her phone. She toys with the edges again, fidgeting to suppress the wave of emotion that’s hitting her.

“It takes one wrong move and they’ll hunt us down, V.” It’s like it burns Panam to even speak those words – to even consider the possibility.

It’s the truth. V knows the wrath of Arasaka all too well… which is why the text strikes such terror in her heart.

“Let’s sleep on it.” An olive branch, but V knows that the discussion tomorrow will end much the same way.

“Yeah, sure.”

Panam reaches down and picks up V’s blanket. Holding it out to V, she smiles softly. “Don’t worry too much. Given your history with the guy, I’m sure he’s resourceful enough to handle whatever Arasaka throws at him.”

_You don’t even know._

V hides her grimace with a pathetic half-hearted smile.

“Night, Panam.” V takes the blanket and wraps it back around herself. “Sorry for this shitshow.”

Panam smirks. “S’all good. Good night’s sleep is for the birds anyway.”

V snorts a bit at that, shoves her phone in her pocket and leaves the tent. The excitement and anticipation fizzles out into somber peace as she leisurely walks back to her own tent. She tip-toes around the broken glass and gingerly steps over the cables running from the generators to their tents. V stops at the front entrance of her tent, not quite ready to sleep yet too overwhelmed to be awake.

An inhuman wail rings through the air, cutting into the silence. V’s breath catches in her chest and she tenses for just a moment. Coyotes. V lets out the breath pathetically and it tapers off into a little laugh. The wildlife never ceases to freak her out. Night after night she hears something that sends shivers down her spine.

She spins around when she hearts the high-pitch howl descend into a yelp. Upon the ridge to the east, three coyotes patrol. Their confident movements betrayed by the complicated inner-workings of their social structure. One stands proudly over the ridge, eyes trained on something in the distance. Meanwhile, the other two dance around each other, tails tucked and teeth bared as they settle some sort of dispute.

The one focused on the horizon tenses suddenly, ears pinned back for only a moment before it turns and scales down the side of the rocks. The other two follow expectantly. The three sprint off, snarling breaking silence as they close in on something poor varmint in the distance.

V shivers again, the cold finally catching up to her. The coyotes brought some levity to her solemn mood, but not much. V turns to head back to her tent, but not before something catches her eye. She stops, squinting as her eyes struggle to focus on the shadow-covered sight.

Emerging from a ragged bush on the ridge is a small four-legged creature. V blinks and squints harder, unable to make out what it is. It’s movements are fast and sharp as it tucks under the brush and hesitantly moves into the open. It is small. Too small to be a full-grown coyote.

As it turns away from the ridge and breaks out into a run, she gets a good look at it. It’s smaller, legs shorter, tail bushier. It’s a fox. With little preamble, it high tails away from the coyotes and into the night, ears pinned and eyes wide.

V can’t help the smile that grows on her face. Patient little thing. Nerves of steel. The coyotes would’ve ripped it to shreds in a hot second. With a tired sigh of finality, V enters her tent and prepares for what she hopes is a long, hard sleep.

The phone finds it’s rightful place beside her cot and she huddles back under the blankets, mind wandering against her volition before sleep overtakes her. She indulges a bit – thinks about him. How his eyes would light up when something made him smile – and how she hopes that she was the reason for at least some of those smiles.

Hideshi Hino…

She snorts into her pillow, smile growing as she reminisces. He was handsome, intelligent, older - leagues beyond her, a failed Arasaka street rat. Yet she couldn’t help but antagonize him just _so_. His food snobbery, his penchant for jazz, his poetic secret code. It was all so damningly endearing.

V’s eyes shoot open and are drawn immediately to the phone resting by her head.

_The fuckin’ secret code._


End file.
